


Misguided

by lawrencetheshark



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Albino Karkat, Developing Relationship, Humanstuck, M/M, Mild descriptions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 21:25:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lawrencetheshark/pseuds/lawrencetheshark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The odds are 1 in 17,000, and you've always hated being that "1."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is not part of a series, but there is another version of it from Dave's point of view, and a small continuation that will be posted at a later date.  
> DaveKat is SUCH a huge ship of mine, it's crazy.

There are only so many insults specific to albino people that one could toss around. That doesn't apply to you, of course, because you're certain you could come up with hundreds, provided you actually wanted to hurt someone's feelings, and provided you weren't albino yourself. The idiots around here, though, only seem to know two: freak and mutant.

You've started school someplace new with a new foster dad, a kind of overly dramatic knife-loving mobster whom you never see but somehow he got stuck with you. You didn't bother with contacts or wigs because you did that at all the other schools and people usually found out and punished you for it. They always found out. You always had to move. Back to the orphanage because you can't change one fucked up little piece of your DNA and just be normal.

There's one guy here whom you already hate more than the rest of them. He's a really popular guy, and not because he's a jock, or because he's The Most Attractive Male On Earth™, but because he's just so fucking COOL. He's a huge prick and he talks way too damn much and he has rap battles—RAP BATTLES—and some weird obsession with apple juice. He's in a fencing club (you know that because the facility is by your house, not because you pay attention to the shit he says) and he lives in an apartment with his brother. That's all you know, and that's all you'll ever know, because even if you did try to read him, he's always got shades on, anyway, so you can't.

The worst thing in a situation like this is that he actually notices you. You don't expect a cool guy like him to look your way for anything but a smirk and a joke at your expense. And yet, he actually looks at you. He NODS at you. Never a word, never up too close, just a nod across the hall and then he's gone, with his entourage close at his elbow.

You fucking loathe that Dave Strider.

You just know he's fucking with you, because you see him with your biggest enemies on a daily basis. They're the ones that always shout that you're a freak and a mutant and that you should just die, before proceeding to beat you up. The first day, man, it's been happening since the first fucking day. Strangely, though, you've never once seen Dave there with them. Sometimes you like to think he's really not all that bad a guy, until you realize it's Dave Strider, and he's probably usually off being cool fuck knows where on those occasions.

That kind of makes you feel better because it kind of makes him look like even more of an insufferable prick.

You grow accustomed to people hitting you and hating you and Dave just standing back like nothing's even happening. At least he looks at you, though, right? Instead of staring. He actually looks at you. You think? You can't tell with those fucking shades covering half his face. In fact, you've grown SO accustomed to it that you jump three feet when you hear a voice behind you.

"What the everloving fuck, Strider!" you exclaim, clutching your chest.

"Sup, Vantas."

"What do you want!"

You don't want him to speak to you. You want him to go away and leave you alone with your pathetic thoughts. You really don't need him to screw around with your feelings right now. And you groan inwardly, hating the fact that you actually care that he's about to put the smack down on you (and you are NOT FUCKING SCARED).

Dave shrugs in that stupid nonchalant way. "Just came over here to talk to you, dude. You look like a lonely guppy, figured you'd like a fish friend."

"I'm a Cancer," you grumble, really not appreciating the fish metaphor, especially since one of your good friends from the orphanage growing up used fish puns all the time. You miss her.

Dave gives you a look that makes you think that maybe he cocked an eyebrow at you, but again, you can't tell. "I'm a Sagittarius," he informs you. "Is that how you usually make friends? Talking about your astrological signs? Guess it's not the most unconventional way to make friends I've seen but I can say it's up there at the top, kind of like a tightrope walker at—"

"God damn, do you ever shut up?" you hiss, slinging your book bag over your shoulder. You're ready to just walk away, but a part of you fears the potential consequences, so you stay put. Oh you can just _feel_ Dave's eyes on you. It pisses you off and depresses you and you know what he must be thinking, you in your dark gray sweater and black jeans with that paper white hair and far-too-pale skin.

"Not really." He shrugs again, still with that blank expression plastered to his face. "Can't keep a music man from playin his part now can you."

You Just sort of…stare at him. You feel like you're being patronized. There's just no way in hell this coolkid would ever be anything close to nice to you. But a part of you thinks…maybe going along with it is a better idea. Sure, you'll probably be around those losers that beat you up all the time more often, but maybe Dave won't let them be so harsh once he talks to you a little bit.

You snort and walk away. He follows. Why he follows you, you don't think you're ever going to understand. But you hate it. You don't want his stupid presence anywhere near you, mocking you with his height, and his popularity, and his normalcy, and his coolkid motherfuckin entourage. You just want him to go away. You might settle for him just staying silent if you weren't undeniably certain he'd be silently judging you the entire Goddamn time.

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you absolutely despise that Dave Strider.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got kind of into stabdads.

Days and days and days go by. You can't control when he comes and when he goes but Dave Strider has sufficiently thrust his way into your life. He's everywhere with you on some days. The coffee shop, the library, the clothing store, the place you buy your glasses because you always seem to get them broken. The two of you never seem to stop talking, him because he just doesn't, you because you're embarrassed by a good chunk of what he says to you and you really don't want to show him that what he says gets to you. Your friend Gamzee tells you he probably doesn't mean it the way you think. You're almost completely certain he's still getting his kicks, making fun of you silently behind your back, plotting something malicious.

The problem with that is, Dave only treats you like a friend, or the way you think a guy like him would treat a friend. He's not embarrassed by you. And maybe that's because he enjoys your humiliation. That ignorant fuck, he'd probably do that, too.

You feel like the ugly little new girl in every romcom you've ever seen, except in the movies, the girl gets the guy.

At the moment in which you make that analogy, you are standing alone in the line for the coffee shop, burying your chin in the neck of your sweater. It makes you pause. It makes you look back on things. It makes you wonder what the actual fuck is possibly wrong with you, how can you think that? Not Dave Strider. You'd rather fall for anyone but Dave Strider.

This is the worst possible scenario you've ever come up with.

And who should appear in the next moment but the aforementioned ass hole! Today is really not your day, and you grumble about it to yourself, subconsciously fixing your hair as he walks—strides—towards you.

"What the fuck do you want, Strider," you snap before he has a chance to say anything.

He stops where he is, evidently raising an eyebrow at the man in front of you in line, who appears put off by your vulgarity. "Just wanted to come say hey to my favorite bro," he says, that blasted mysterious voice doing nothing for your nerves.

You manage to snort through the confusion anyway. "Ha! Best bro, what a laugh. Go pester some other undesirable for a change, stupid mutt, I'm sick of you following me around all the damn time."

The idiot with the shades just chuckles at you. "Did you just call me a mutt?" he teased. "Wow, Karkitty, I had no idea."

"F-fuck you!" you scream, very loudly, and you retract back into your sweater as the entire coffee shop turns to glare at you. "I didn't mean it that way, you dicklicking dunderfuck." You decide saying anything else is just going to get you into deeper shit than calling your nemesis-crush-buddy-guy a dog. A dog, Karkat? Seriously? He could have taken that two ways and just because he's Dave he chose to take it the completely wrong way, even though neither way was really right anyhow and wow you're getting a headache.

Fuck Dave Strider. Just, fuck that guy.

BUT NOT LITERALLY FUCKING DAMMIT!

So you sulk. You sulk in line and you grumble your order to the barista and you stay silent as the grave while Dave rambles on about shit you don't even bother to pretend you care about. God you wish you could just tell him off, but every time you try, he just doesn't seem to get it. He always comes back, and you are just so brilliantly fucked that it isn't even pretty anymore.

Okay. It's time to slow down, Karkat. Live in the moment. Right now, Dave is looking at you from behind his shades. He's smirking at you. "It's the middle of Spring, Vantas," he's teasing. "You look like you're from the Amazon and you're all bundled up because 63 is cold compared to down there. You're like a tropical Eskimo man. And I guess that makes me your sled team. Considering I'm a dog and all. Woof."

"Mush," you utter after a slow sip of coffee. You try to keep your face indifferent and your voice as stoic as his usually is.

His grin grows wider; you've never really played along with his dumbass metaphors before, so this is like his fucking birthday or something. Similarly, he's never smiled like that before. In fact you don't think you've ever seen him smile at all for anything. It's…kind of nice. Makes him seem like less of the enormous jerk you know he really is.

Your eyes are locked for a moment—well you choose to believe they are, I mean you can see them gleaming behind his shades, if only very vaguely—before you decide it's gone far enough. Nobody knows what's gone through your mind in that short amount of time. Not even you. You push your glasses up the bridge of your nose and take another sip of coffee.

And that's that moment. Everything else after that is a blur until you arrive back at your house two hours later with a boner and some shitty record the bastard in the red hoodie lent you. You're not going to listen to it. Hell no. No fucking way. Not a bit.

Well…maybe a little.

Later. Because the moment you walk in the door you're barreled into by a short, kind of chubby, relatively mental man. You have almost no time to react before the breath is knocked out of you and your side collides with the floor in an extremely painful manner.

"Dammit, Deuce!" you curse, gripping your shoulder and letting a string of expletives fly from your mouth. It isn't like you're not used to it, but you sure do wish you didn't have to deal with it here.

And you broke another pair of glasses.

"Sorry, sorry, Karkat!" the old man apologizes, bustling around trying to set you upright again.

"Stop whining, Deuce, he's fine," your foster father grumps, walking into the room, tossing an 8 ball in the air. "Get off yer ass, kid, you ain't hurt."

"Fuck you, Slick!" you growl. "Fuck you and your stupid henchmen! God DAMMIT I was hoping to not have to DEAL with broken BONES every week again!"

"Suck it up, kid, broken bones make ya tough," your foster dad says. His buddy Deuce is still worrying all over you, making sure you're okay to stand and such as that. You're fine, you think. Dave's record is laying on the ground, though, and you're kind of afraid that you broke it.

"What's this?" Slick asks, picking it up and turning it over in his hands.

You bristle like a cat queen whose litter is being threatened. "Give that back!" you screech, pouncing on your foster dad's back like the feline you've always tried not to be seen as.

Slick is surprised by your sudden energy—you're excitable, but he's never seen you like this before. "Okay, okay, kid, easy there!" He coaxes you off of his back with the record. You snatch it, thankful to have it back in your grasp, and bolt upstairs, hoping to hell and beyond that Slick didn't feel your issue in that single tiny little moment.


	3. Chapter 3

You're pretty sure you're falling in love with him.

Sure, you hate the guy. He's a jerk and he acts like he's way cooler than he has any right to be and everybody loves him and everything is just so freaking easy for him that it makes you want to just kick him in the balls. He doesn't have a damn problem and he's so mysterious that nobody can help but fall for him. Not even you. And that makes you angry. But you can't escape the simple fact that you are in love with one Dave Strider, in his cool shades and his sweet raps and his ironic hobbies.

It's just a shame that he only talks to you for his own humor.

Despite the fact that he's just making fun of you, you can't bring yourself to tell him off, because you're afraid that it's the truth. You're afraid that he'll let it all out in the open and laugh at you and kick you and hit you just like those insufferable friends of his used to do. You're sure it's only a matter of time.

You meet one morning, about a month after he gave you that record that you still haven't listened to, in your usual spot on a bench by the back door. He sits and immediately starts bothering you about…whatever it is Striders bother people about.

"Had a sick date with my turntables last night," he says to you without turning his head. You grumble. It's like those damn things are his girlfriend or something. You're losing out to a table, man.

"Whatever."

"Aw, come on, Karkitty, you know you want to hear it!" he teases. "Those tables and I, man, we really hit it off this time. Banged out tunes all night, if you know what I mean. Got so sick. The sick ones are the best ones, man, makin all them deviant sounds and shit."

"Strider, I do not give one single fuck about your fucked up love affair with those things," you snap half-heartedly. "And I don't care about your stupid-ass beats. And DON'T call me Karkitty, you ABSOLUTE blockhead."

"Shit, Vantas," he huffs. "Just wanted someone to appreciate my tunage."

He acts hurt, but you know by now that it's just that, an act, and you aren't fooled; not that he was trying to fool you in the first place. "Everyone loves your tunage, Dave," you sigh, standing. "Everyone loves you, you're a perfect little shit, so stop trying to drag me in with the rest of them."

"Whoa, hey!" he protests as you stalk off. You can hear him get up and run after you, but you speed up, keep your eyes forward, try to think of baby names for The Onceler and Absolem's lovechild, try anything to ignore Dave.

He catches up quickly and matches your pace as he walks along beside you. "What's wrong with you today, Vantas?"

"Nothing!" you snap, maybe a bit too loudly, stopping in your tracks. You mentally facepalm at your worsening ability to deflect a situation.

"Bullshit," Strider spits as the bell rings. You know he doesn't much care about class, and you never really did either, but it certainly is some sweet relief, and you think you'll take this opportunity to escape even more ridicule from the object of your unwanted affection. You try to make a break for it, but he catches your shoulder before you've even gone a step. "Vantas."

"Nothing's wrong," you growl, wrenching out of his grasp and fleeing down the hallway.

"Come over this afternoon!" he calls after you.

You don't stop.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW

Your heart is pounding like mad and your hand is shaking so much you wonder how you can possibly manage more than a feeble knock on Dave Strider's apartment door.

Dave opens the door seconds afterwards. A soft beat thumps from somewhere deep inside his home. You glare at him, he stares at you from behind his shades, and now you really wish you'd just listened to his damn song. Then you wouldn't be standing here on jellied knees nursing an impossible crush on this douche.

"We need to talk, Vantas," he says before you can speak. He turns from you and you follow him inside, grumbling to yourself as you close the door.

Dave offers you some apple juice, which you colorfully decline before demanding to know what is so God damn important that he asked you to come to his fucking apartment at four in the afternoon You've got better shit to do! Or, so you like to think. He shrugs and sits on the couch in front of where you stand, awkward, in the middle of the room.

"Seriously, Strider, I've got other shit I could be doing, I don't need to be here listening to you blab like you do all the fucking time."

"Karkat," he snorts, "you and I both know you don't have a damn thing to do."

You're silent.

"What is your problem with me, kid? All I've ever fucking done is be a bro to you, bro, I don't think I deserve to be ignored half the time. And don't stand there silently like you do, give me a fucking reason."

You feel rage build up inside you. "Bro?" you repeat. " _Bro_? You've been a _bro_ to me, is that what you fucking call it?"

"Call what, man? I—"

"The only reason you've been nice to me, _man_ ," you hiss, "is to make fucking fun of me and I'm fucking sick of it! I could take being pushed around, I can deal with broken bones and bloody lips and bruises every fucking week, but I am sick to shit of people acting like they care! Because nobody cares, Strider. They care about you, sure! Everybody LOVES Dave Strider! Not about me. Not about the albino f-freak Karkat Vantas."

By the end of your rant tears are streaming down your face and you're shaking worse than you were earlier. You realize this and turn your face away from his, which you can tell is shocked even despite the glasses, and clench your fists to try to stabilize yourself.

The next instant his arms are around your shoulders. You tense, but when he doesn't try to crush you (not that he could, he's not as big as those other kids) you relax and let yourself hug him back, sobbing into his shoulder.

"Why the hell did you let me stick around, then, if you hate me so much?" he asks you softly. That low Texan drawl hits your ear with a burst of warm breath and you're not sure if staying in this position is going to be the best if he keeps that up.

"I don't hate you," you grumble begrudgingly. "I don't hate you, Strider, I—"

Your voice catches in your throat. You can't speak. You can't even function and do you know why? Because while you were talking that ass hole pulled back, tossed his sunglasses somewhere, and right as you got a glimpse of his intense—RED—eyes, his lips met yours.

You push him back with a gasp and tilt your head to look at his eyes, see if you were right. Yup, red. Red red red red red. "You're…"

He grabs you by the waist and lifts you up against him, kissing you again. You wobble, but throw your arms around his neck for balance as he carries you, kissing you, towards the source of the bass still thumping through the place. His lips are skilled but sloppy against yours and you don't even bother with questioning it because you aren't alone after all and this feels so damn good.

Before you know it you're on his floor on your back and his lips have moved to your neck. You've got your fingers wound all up in his hair and he's smirking against your skin as you whimper and moan and tug at his hair, arching up into his touch.

And oh is his touch ever sweet. His fingers ghost over your abdomen beneath your shirt. His left thigh is rubbing lightly at your crotch, with just enough pressure that you're starting to get hard. His teeth pull gently at your skin and his tongue soothes any sucks too intense for comfort.

"Shit, Strider," you gasp as he moves his hand down between your legs. You feel your pants being undone and for half a second you let him do what he wants with them. You're perfectly content with his hand slipping beneath the concealing garments, and you're perfectly happy watching it happen. That is, until you realize that it's actually happening.

"Stop!" you exclaim, sitting bolt upright and grabbing his wrist.

"What! What's wrong?" he asks, concern, surprise, and annoyance seeping into his normally cool and careless voice.

You stand, a string of curse words leaving your mouth as you rid yourself of your stupid clothing. You notice for the first time that it's pretty dark in here for being close to five in the evening, and you figure that may be for the best, since neither Dave nor you have your shades on.

You turn around to find Dave sitting on the edge of his bed, also having removed his clothing; unlike you, however, he kept his boxers on. You feel a little disappointed, but quickly push that thought away, because how creepy is it that you're disappointed about not seeing another guys dick.

With a shake of the head you walk over anyway and sit on his lap, straddling his waist. "I need to know you're serious about this," you grumble quietly, your usual glare put back in place.

One of his hands gently grips your wrist as you lace your fingers behind his neck. Red eyes search purple, purple search back, and whatever conclusion is reached results in more feverish kisses and Dave being shoved onto his back. Once in this position he wraps his arms around your midsection and grinds his clothed erection into your bare one. The sensation makes you gasp, and he parts his lips too, which gives you the opportunity to suck his lower lip in between yours and nibble at it.

After a moment you hoist yourself up on your knees and reach down towards Dave's waistband. He helps your shaking fingers tug the garment down until you can hold the full weight of his dick in your hand. You shiver simultaneously, he because you're touching him, and you because holy fuck you're actually touching him. You're making Dave Strider bite his lips and shut his eyes. You are the one making Dave Strider come undone as you stroke his length. It's all you.

You try hard to concentrate on what you're doing; you've never done this to anyone but yourself and you really hope you're making him feel as good as you think you are. But trying and succeeding are very different things, and this fact becomes more and more apparent as time goes on.

Dave's long, skilled fingers wrap around your erection, and you gasp, throwing your head back. Someone's touching you. And what's more, it's him. You can't remember how many times you'd wondered how many people he'd been with, but none of them matter because now it's you, now it's the both of you, and nothing's changing that.

His hand pumps you in long, even strokes, and your supporting arm is starting to shake. You collapse, no longer able to keep yourself up, and no longer able to pleasure the boy beneath you. But you practically melt into his chest, mouth agape and teeth bared as you struggle to but fail at keeping the moans from escaping your throat. You can hear him panting softly in your ear, and oh what a lovely sound it is, especially when on his breath are small words of encouragement, even though you aren't even doing anything.

And in the next instant, you're gone. You absolutely cannot handle any more than this. He shifts his hand and arches into you, grinding your erections together, squeezing, setting a pace to take care of both of you at the same time. The room is getting way too hot. You've got your faced buried in the pillow that rests under Dave's head and your nails are digging into his shoulders and fuck, you can feel it, you're so close. His name falls from your lips and your hips move with his hips and his hand, which moves faster and harsher until all you can see is white, all you can feel is bliss, and you're coming, spilling into his hand and onto his body.

Dave's body. Dave's pale, luscious, toned, swordsman's body. Dave's hot chest heaving against yours. Dave's large hand lazily milking your orgasm for all that it's worth, and you didn't realize that he came, too. Dave's breath. Dave's voice. The hitch in Dave's voice that shows you he really has lost all of his cool, and for what? You.

You lower yourself fully onto him before pulling your head back to look into those red, red eyes. He gives you a small smile as the two of you catch your breath, and a kiss as he rolls to the side and curls around you.

You don't think you've ever been so happy about being wrong in your entire life.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is also NSFW and was only written because I just REEEEAALLY wanted them to buttfuck so  
> Yeah

It isn't anywhere close to being dawn when you pry your eyes open. The room is pitch black. For a moment you can't see a damn thing, but you do know that this isn't your own bed, and this isn't your own room. It smells a little more like apples and the texture of the sheets is different and…oh yeah. You're at Dave's house.

You can feel his arms tightening around your waist, and maybe that's what woke you up. You're glad you remembered where you are so quickly, otherwise someone would have gotten very hurt. You wiggle around a little bit, checking things out, assessing your current situation. The only conclusions you can come to are that a, you are both still naked, and b, he must have cleaned you up or something because you can't feel any residual stickiness from your…adventure.

And it isn't like you to just sit back and let things happen whether you want them or not, but you manage to stifle yourself and only flip the fuck out inside your sleep-shrouded mind.

What the everloving fuck have you done, Vantas? You didn't say a word about your stupid feelings, he's going to think you're just some slut trying to get it on with the famous Dave Strider. He won't believe you have any sort of romantic feelings for him in your heart at all, despite what just happened. And what the fuck was with him anyway? Did he just…use you? Were you another fuck toy to him, is that why it was so easy? You really don't want to think that Dave would be that low. You like to believe that he's a decent guy, and that you have even a ghost of a chance with him. Until he wakes up, though, you can only lay there and mentally berate yourself for things that you aren't even sure are an issue.

Luckily, though, you don't really have to wait all that long. Dave stirs beside you, leaning in and kissing the back of your neck. You turn to him as he pulls back. A small smile rests on his face, as genuine as the one you remember from that one day a month ago when you went along with his stupid-ass jokes.

Suddenly every negative thought is gone from your mind. You don't care if he's still using you, you don't care if he likes you or not, you just roll over and pull him close again. You do resent him a little bit, because his hypersensitivity to light has kept his secret pretty well under wraps, but being the only one to know for sure makes you feel…pretty special. Hell, just being here with him like this makes you feel pretty fucking special and there's no way to deny that.

"You okay, Karkat?" Dave whispers to you softly.

You shiver at his morning voice in your ear. "I'm fine," you growl, pulling back and looking into his eyes.

And the urge to kiss him has never really been as strong as it is when you do, because he's looking at you with the most sincere and loving expression you've ever seen.

So you do it. Fuck it man, nothing is really new anymore, so you kiss him softly on the lips with no expectation that he will reciprocate. It's a pleasure when he does, though, because he's so damn good at it. So good you wouldn't be surprised if you melted into his kisses and never rematerialized.

A few moments pass with just the two of you like this, wrapped in each other's arms, kissing like there's no tomorrow. Until one or two limbs venture too far, and a well placed tug at your hair coincides with a serendipitous rub of your thigh and you're both going to lose it again, you can tell.

Dave rolls himself on top of you and you groan into his mouth, slowly moving your lips against his. He runs his long fingers through your hair. You, with some small amount of struggle, maneuver your arms down and around his waist. You feel the weight of his half-hard member against you hip, and you almost don't dare to arch your back, but you do, and he sighs hotly, leaning down to your ear.

"Can I take you, Karkat?" he whispers. You never took him for the romantic type, never expected him to ask and never dreamed he'd word it so tactfully. But you do know what it is he's asking, and you don't hesitate for long before granting him your permission with a shake of the head.

The blond licks your ear and grinds against your hip once more before pulling back and turning his eyes to where his fingers are wrapping around your semi-hard dick. He strokes you slowly up to full hardness as you watch, flushed in the face and chewing your lip. And you know he's watching you watch him, because you can feel all the intensity in those red eyes burning a hole in your head. You whimper and shift a little bit in discomfort under that gaze, but it's difficult to be too upset in a situation like this.

You remember yesterday afternoon, and how this felt then. You remember how quickly everything moved, but this time, just hours later, Dave seemed to want to take his time. You're both fully hard and he's got you squirming as he pops the cap on a bottle. At first, you don't know what it is or what it's for; all you know is that Dave is squeezing some sort of liquid into his hands. And suddenly, something tells you what it's meant for.

"Lift your hips up a little, dude," he says softly, a hand pushing your legs further apart.

You comply, but mutter a snide comment about his terminology under your breath. You haven't dared speak thus far, afraid that you might say something the opposite of what you mean to say and that all of this might end for good. But you can't really help yourself here, I mean, calling someone dude when the two of you are—

"Ohhh," you utter anxiously as a cold, slick finger penetrates you. It isn't painful, and frankly it isn't even really all that uncomfortable. It's just a new sensation, and you're not used to it. You hear him chuckle a little at your sounds as he moves the slick digit in and out. Your head falls back against the pillow with his presses and pulls.

"Dammit, Strider, this isn't something to laugh aboAUFGH!" He cuts off your protests with the addition of a second finger, definitely not comfortable and definitely a little pain. You shoot upwards, tensing, and almost knock heads with him, throwing your arms over to grip his back. He laughs again as you gasp. "Shut the fuck up, Strider! Fuck!"

You see Dave bite his lips as he works the two fingers, pushing and pulling and stretching you out. The next moment he leans to touch those lips to the base of your neck. You shiver and tense a little more, resting your head on his shoulder. He lays open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder and up anywhere on your neck he can reach, and you like it, but you can't help but feel like it's a distraction. You feel the same way about it when he begins stroking your softening dick.

Sure enough, in almost no time at all, he's wiggling a third finger in there, and the three move together, slowly and shallowly at first, mainly because you screamed more profanities at him, but also to help you adjust. The thrusts get deeper and his fingers stretch a little bit at a time, and soon instead of hissing and cursing and biting his shoulder, you're moaning and purring and it isn't so painful or weird anymore. In fact, you're just about begging him for more.

"You ready, Karkitty?" he mumbles heavily in your ear. He's got to be about as anxious as you are to get to it. Your cock is throbbing, and so is your ass. And you…want it. More than you thought you were going to.

"D-don't call me Karkitty…" you whimper, wiggling your hips

"Sorry," he growls. He pulls his fingers out of you and lifts your thighs, which throws you a little off balance and you throw a hand back to support yourself. Dave shifts himself and settles between your legs. You can't help but watch with baited breath as he rolls on a condom and lubes himself up, making a passing note that he isn't as big as you thought but it'll still probably hurt.

You're damn right about that. You whine as he presses himself into you, your mind all but shutting down. "Dave," you gasp. "Dave…"

"Karkat…" He bites his lips again, eyes closing as he slowly sinks deeper. You lay down completely, drawing him deeper in the process, and soon he's as far in as he'll go. You're moaning loudly and you really just hate that he's hearing these things from you. Of course, he hears the words fuck and shit out of your mouth more times than you can count. But hearing them like this…it's different.

Dave stays where he is for a minute, until you nod for him to move. He pulls out a little only to snap his hips back against you and you yelp. You don't know what you expected, but the feelings jolting up your spine as he rocks his hips are ones for the books. He bends over you to get a better angle, resting his elbows on either side of your head. You grip his back, nails digging into his shoulder blades more and more as his thrusts grow harsher and deeper. You hate this, it's awkward, and your back is at a funky angle, and you're definitely going to hurt later, but at the same time you love it, and you want more.

It isn't long before your overly-stimulated body is tensing and you're trying so hard to be quiet that it almost physically hurts. He's huskily grunting your name in your ear, countering your own shrill utterances of his name, and then you're coming without warning.

He thrusts a few more times as your body goes weak, riding out his own orgasm that you're sure you heard him indicate with a long, drawn-out version of the word "fuck."

The sound of heavy breathing is all that can be heard as pulls out and rolls off of you. You throw your arm over your forehead, feeling limp and tired but restless at the same time. Exhilarated, even, as the adrenaline works itself out of your system. But in fucking pain. Man, maybe Dave knows how to work you, but he definitely went a little far. Or at least, you think he did.

"Fuck, Strider…" you gasp. "How…how many times have you…"

He lets out a breathy chuckle. "You'd think that's the only word you know," he teases.

You turn your head to look at him. He's staring at the ceiling, and you get the feeling he's ignoring your question. "Dave," you croak. He looks at you and you clear your throat before repeating your question. "How many times have you…done this?"

He smiles sheepishly. "I, uh. Once."

Your eyebrows shoot up. "Once?" you repeat incredulously. "You're shitting me, Strider, really?"

"Yeah," he confirms. He smiles softly at you, looking into your eyes for a moment before he sits up. "Come on, Karkat, let's get cleaned up."

You try to sit up, but an ache in your ass sends you back down. "Oww, FUCK!" you scream, falling back onto the pillow. "Hrrrnnngg no, Dave, I'll clean up later. We've got time."

He bursts into laughter as he works on getting the condom off. "Not as much as you think, bro, it's six o'clock."

"It's WHAT?" you scream. Oh, perfect. An hour. In this condition. And you didn't bring extra clothes. If anybody were to pick a day to notice you, it'd be today, because that's just how life works.

"Well, come on, Vantas, let's get moving!" he urges, walking over and lifting you into his arms. "Shit, you're heavier than I thought!"

"Dammit, you've got too much energy for just finishing off a sexual encounter, Strider," you grumble as he carries you to the bathroom.

The two of you shower together. He washes you off and shampoos your hair, and you do what he'll let you. Stubborn jackass is obsessed with his routine. The warm water relaxes your body and you can almost stand on your own by the time he turns off the water. He gives you some of his less Dave-specific clothing to wear—surprisingly it isn't too baggy—and you two are out the door just in time to make it to school on time.

"Dave, wait," you say just before you enter the school. He stops and looks back at you, his shades back in place. You fight back disappointment. "I…I love you."

He shoots you the Strider smirk (that you can tell has a tiny hint of genuine smile in there) and nods. "Go home and listen to that record I gave you."

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and against all odds, you're not alone anymore.


End file.
